


December 24 - 1 golden ring

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi-Age, Other - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2005-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Today's writing "mathom" is:</p><p>	one golden ring</p><p>Write whatever you feel like – a drabble, a poem or a short story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All that Glitters - by Agape4Gondor

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

All That Glitters  
  
  
  
"All that glitters is not gold,' the saying goes," said Faramir.  "Yet our King shines with a light that is not of this world.  Greater is the treasure that is this one man than the One golden ring.  All Middle-earth rejoices in his birth.  May the Valar every protect Him."  
  
Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and all the other wonderful celebrations!   



	2. Untitled - by Aranel Took

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

He couldn't help but touch it. His hand would automatically go to his pocket, to ease his mind that it was still there. He couldn't bear the thought of losing this precious thing.  
  
He touched it again, cool in his nervously shaking hand, and pulled it out to look at it, his fingers caressing the smooth, golden surface. It nearly slipped from his sweaty hand, and he fumbled to catch it in a panic.  
  
"Perhaps I should hold that for you, Sam," Frodo chuckled, holding out his hand. "You don't need to be losing Rosie's ring on your wedding day."


	3. Planning Ahead - by Gwynnyd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

  
  
Groping his way to consciousness, Arathorn groaned and cursed that ill-named horse's clumsiness. It had become a steady litany in the two days since Lightfoot slipped over the edge of the trail and he had ended in a tangled heap of horse and bush at the foot of the ravine. The horse had stood up and trotted away, but he had heard the bone in his leg snap and it would be weeks before he could walk again. He would not think of the day and a half of jostling it took to get him here.  
  
They had poured glass after glass of fiery distilled liquor into him to deaden the pain of the bone setting. He muzzily took stock: he was stale drunk, hung over, desperately thirsty, and his splinted, sore and swollen leg throbbed to the same beat as his headache. He also seemed to be alone in what was clearly the best chamber in Dírhael's fortress, lying propped and centered in a great, tapestry-hung bed. The water pitcher and glass on the small table next to it were out of his reach. Groaning again, he heaved himself over on one wobbly arm and reached for the pitcher. His hand fell short and the movement woke the throb in his leg into fire. Arathorn sagged back, closed his eyes and tried to summon the energy to shout.  
  
"Do you only make those odd noises?"  
  
Arathorn's eyes flew open. The voice belonged to a tiny, black-haired beauty barely tall enough to see over the side of the high bed. Her grey eyes with their fringe of long dark lashes stared at him with intense fascination.  
  
He made an effort to be civil to a daughter of the house. "Sorry my noises disturbed you. Could you summon your mother or your nurse to help me?"  
  
She gave her head a decisive shake. "No," she said, her long, thick braids undulating with the movement of her head. Arathorn swallowed hard and riveted his attention on her eyes. "I just wondered if you made those sounds all the time. _I_ have to take care of you."  
  
That could not be right. Ivorwen could not be so lost to good sense that she expected this mite to have either the skills or the strength to be of use to him. Nor could he spurn her offer of assistance; she seemed entranced with him, and she was here and willing.  
  
"Can you at least get me a glass of water?" Arathorn summoned a weak smile to accompany the request.  
  
"Of course," she replied with a dignity very much at odds with her youthful appearance.  
  
The girl carefully poured water into the waiting glass. She pushed a stool over to the bed and clambered on it to hand the glass to Arathorn. As he gratefully sipped the water, she stayed standing on the stool with her elbows propped on the bed, studying him carefully.  
  
"You are quite old," she announced.  
  
Arathorn was not in the mood to humor her for much longer. "I'm thirty-nine," he snapped, "which is still young for a Dunedan."  
  
She took the news with equanimity. "I'm five and nearly a half." She rubbed her forefinger and held it up for him to see. "Will you give me my ring today?"  
  
He blamed the liquor that still clouded his brain. This conversation made no sense to him at all, but he was afraid to shake his throbbing head, even to attempt to clear it.  
  
"I have no rings to give," he told her, and tried to tinge his words with regret.  
  
"I didn't think you did, _now_." This time he did shake his head, instantly regretting the injudicious movement. She forged onward. "Because when I see the ring, I am _much_ bigger. So you will have a ring, _then_."  
  
"Lady…" he began.  
  
She giggled at the formality. "Gilraen. You are Arathorn and I am Gilraen. When they carried you in, I knew. I saw it. You give me a golden ring and touch my face and say you love me." She must have correctly interpreted his skepticism. "I promise I'll grow up as fast as I can," she added, giving him a confident smile.  
  
His head spun. Marrying her would be as unlikely as… as… His thoughts stalled. There were probably less likely things than marrying this baby, but, in his current condition, he could not think of any. He would promise her anything for a strong draught of willow bark and a chamberpot, followed by the chance to sleep until he was sober again and his damned leg had stopped aching. The way he felt, that might take the twenty years he had until she was marriageable. She seemed to be waiting for an assurance, and her smile began to sag as the silence grew longer. Having only a charming, helpful child around was enough of a trial. If she were distraught… ?  
  
"I am not at my best. If I forget, remind me when you are grown. Now, please…"  
  
The door opened and a shaft of light speared into his eyes. "Gilraen!" Wincing, he saw an adult woman - at last! - come into the room carrying a covered tray. "Lord Arathorn needs rest. Out with you, this instant!"  
  
Gilraen patted his hand where it lay on the coverlet. She leaned over and whispered confidentially, "I understand. I will remind you." Sliding down from the stool, she walked to the door. At the last moment, she turned and gave him another brilliant, confident smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Snapshots -  by RiverOtter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's writing "mathom" is:

Snapshots

       The pealing of bells  
    Eagles swirling in the sky  
      One sweet golden ring  
  
   Dancing on the green  
    The party tree in full bloom  
    One shiny golden ring  
  
   Overhead stars shine  
    A silver tree flourishes  
        One golden ring glows


End file.
